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Rating:
Mature
Archive Warning:
Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category:
F/M
Fandoms:
無職転生 異世界行ったら本気だす - 理不尽な孫の手 | Mushoku Tensei: Isekai Ittara Honki Dasu - Rifujin na Magonote (Novels)無職転生 ～異世界行ったら本気だす～ | Mushoku Tensei: Isekai Ittara Honki Dasu | Jobless Reincarnation (Anime)呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime & Manga)
Relationships:
Paul Greyrat/Zenith GreyratLilia Greyrat/Paul GreyratRoxy Migurdia/Original Character(s)Sylphiette (Mushoku Tensei)/Original Character(s)Eris Greyrat/Original Character(s)
Characters:
Ivar GreyratZenith GreyratPaul GreyratLilia GreyratSylphiette (Mushoku Tensei)Roxy MigurdiaEris GreyratGhislaine DedoldiaPhilip Boreas GreyratHilda Boreas GreyratSauros Boreas Greyrat
Additional Tags:
Family FluffAction/AdventurePersonal GrowthSelf-InsertWholesomeHeavenly Restriction (Jujutsu Kaisen)Identity IssuesPsychological ThemesCanon DivergenceSlow Burn
Language:
English
Stats:
Published:2026-02-12Updated:2026-02-12Words:40,351Chapters:4/?Comments:7Kudos:44Bookmarks:13Hits:1,686
Mushoku Tensei: Heavenly Restricted
TheUnfuzzyFabulist
Chapter 2: To Walk Without Wings
Notes:
This chapter focuses on the main character's thoughts and personal struggles. It's slower, more introspective, and a bit heavier than usual. It ended up being just over 8,000 words, and I'm not entirely sure if I fully captured what I was aiming for, but this is the best I could come up with.
It might feel like one of those introspective episodes of Mushoku Tensei, with little action and more moments of reflection. The main difference is that our protagonist tends to overthink and struggles to embrace this world the way others do.
If you read it, I'd really appreciate it if you left a comment or review. Feedback helps more than I can say and lets me know if I'm hitting the mark. Thanks for taking the time to read this story.
(P.S. This author's note was originally posted on FanFiction.net.)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It's been a month since I was taken from one life and thrown into another.
I never took reincarnation seriously. It felt like a leftover idea from old beliefs. Egyptians spoke of wandering souls. Buddhists talked about repeating lives. Science said that when the mind stopped, everything ended. These days it turned into entertainment, especially in anime. I grew up believing the soul had only one path after death, and that the story ended there.
And yet, here I am.
"He's venkaras healthier. Tough lira'tel guy, huh?"
I turn my eyes toward the two young figures leaning over the bassinet.
"That's tel'nar he venka'tas from me," the girl replied with a small smile. "He's a sol'mi fighter."
"Well, maybe I shalek hav're a taste too."
"Dear, not in ten'vor-mngh~!"
I glanced away. Their words were starting to make sense, bit by bit. At this stage of development, that shouldn't happen. An infant's brain isn't built to process language this quickly, but I was absorbing it anyway.
"W-wait, I kar'ta-ahhn~ I need to fae'len Ivar soon."
"Just a sahl. I'll be your ka'tel for now."
Rebirth is already difficult to grasp, but waking in a world I only half remember from a light novel is another kind of distortion.
One of my last clear memories is a student handing in his paper with a copy of Mushoku Tensei under his arm. We talked about it briefly, nothing worth holding on to. But now, with too many details lining up too neatly, coincidence feels like the weakest explanation. If I wanted to be dramatic, I could call it a joke, a stray thought made real by something with bad timing and worse humor.
Either way, I'm here. And it still feels like the punchline hasn't landed, because one thing refuses to sit right.
Rudeus is missing. That alone tells me something's off.
If the timeline is anything like I remember, his absence is a problem. Maybe the story hasn't started yet. Maybe I'm the older sibling. Zenith doesn't look like someone who recently gave birth to twins. Either that or I'm underestimating her.
And then there's the name. Ivar.
That's what Paul and Zenith call me. Ivar Greyrat. I don't remember that name appearing in the original story. The only real conclusion is that I wasn't part of it, that I'm an addition. More proof something interfered.
And if someone put me here, they did a pretty poor job.
I'm malnourished to start with.
Even so, there's progress. Whatever this body lacks in nutrients, muscle, or bone strength, I push it to adjust.
How? Shock feeding.
Infants are supposed to feed in short, spaced intervals. I don't. I stay latched longer, past the point a normal baby would stop, rest for a while, then continue. The goal is to strain the body just enough to trigger growth. Breast milk's meant for steady development, not rapid reinforcement. But it's all I have, so I use it.
Nothing's come back up so far. That could mean I'm adapting, or the body's too underdeveloped to notice the strain.
"Ah, dear! D-Don't veska it in'del, not vren-ahhhn~!"
Clothes rustle, muffled cries spilling out, accompanied by wet, plopping sounds. I swear, I must've pissed off the universe.
Why me?
Six months passed, and somehow the gamble worked. I no longer looked like something dug out of a grave.
More importantly, I could walk, or at least I was trying to.
"That's it, Ivar! Just like before. Mama is watching, alright?"
Zenith's voice carried across the room. She knelt a short distance away, arms open, smile warm and unwavering.
We'd done this plenty of times. Weeks ago, I pretended to be curious, leaning toward the floor whenever she held me. She took it as interest, and before long she believed we were practicing walking, which wasn't entirely wrong.
I couldn't explain it, but something kept pushing me forward. A few months back I showed every sign of marasmus, and at six months my coordination shouldn't have allowed this. Yet it moved. Instinct or some restless drive I couldn't ignore. My body refused to stay still.
And really, who was I to argue?
One foot forward.
Then the other.
A wobble. My balance tipped and my feet skidded against the smooth floor as I steadied myself, air catching in my throat.
Another step.
"There you go," Zenith cheered. "Just a little more."
Another small, shaky step.
Then I let myself fall forward into her waiting arms. She caught me without effort, holding me to her chest like I'd just crossed a finish line.
"Four steps!" she beamed, resting her cheek against my head. "You really are trying your best, aren't you?"
And, for what it was worth, I began to understand what they were saying. How it happened remained unclear, and whether it tied to the strange workings of an infant's brain lay outside my grasp.
She sat down with me on her lap, studying me quietly.
"Look at you, your cheeks are all round now," she said, brushing the hair from my face. "So full of energy lately…"
Her smile lingered.
"Mama's really happy."
She kissed my forehead and drew me into a hug.
"Baahh... duuuh," I babbled, fully committing to the role. I reached up and squished her cheeks with both hands, puffing out my own in imitation as she let out a soft laugh.
"You're so silly," Zenith said, nestling me closer.
Pretending to be a baby was exhausting.
Unlike Rudeus, who flaunted his reincarnation without restraint, I took a cautious approach. One wrong move and Lilia would be muttering prayers and preparing a full-blown exorcism, just like in the original story. So I stumbled when expected. I gurgled. I cried on cue. It bruised my pride, but it kept future problems at bay.
I leaned forward and caught a strand of Zenith's hair between my gums, chewing it like strips of seaweed.
"Ah-Ivar, no," she chided, gently prying the strands from my mouth. "That's not food."
She stood up, holding me close against her chest.
"Let's go now. I'm sure Lilia could use a hand in the kitchen."
Naturally, we were in Paul and Zenith's bedroom. That was where the bassinet sat, close enough for nightly feedings, rocking, and the unfortunate proximity to things no infant should ever have to witness.
I refer, of course, to sex.
It happened often. As if sunset triggered something primal in their blood, filling the room with a level of vigor that was impressive in its own right.
Now, I could scream. Babies are allowed to do that. But I don't. Sex, after all, is healthy. It lowers cortisol, improves cardiovascular function, strengthens emotional bonds, and even boosts immune health. Better this than arguments and resentment, right?
Even if I hate the noise, interrupting it feels counterproductive. So I stay quiet.
That, in part, is why I am grateful for this sudden instinct to train my body, to move even when my muscles protest, to walk earlier, to leave earlier, and to eventually secure a room of my own. One not acoustically synchronized to my parents' mating habits.
Zenith carried me downstairs, humming to herself. I looked around. The house wasn't grand, but it was spacious and solid, the kind of place that stood out in a village. By this world's standards, we were well off.
When we entered the kitchen, I spotted our red-haired maid near the hearth, her face calm and unreadable as she mixed something in a clay bowl above the low stone oven.
"Sorry, Lilia. I took a bit longer this time. Ivar really wanted to practice walking," Zenith said with a sheepish smile.
"There's no need to apologize, Lady Zenith," Lilia replied, setting down the ladle. "It's good to see the young master lively this morning."
"Aah-buhh… mmmmah!" I flailed my arms toward her, releasing the most convincing baby noise I could muster.
"What's this? Reaching for Lilia again?" Zenith looked down, lips curving into a pout. "You like her more than Mama? Should I be worried?"
"Perhaps it is the hair. Infants tend to fixate on small things," Lilia said evenly.
I developed the habit of biting people's bangs. Paul's, Zenith's, even Lilia's. It served less as instinct and more as strategy. Babies bite. It gave me an easy way to interact without raising suspicion, a habit I leaned on more than necessary.
"Now, now, I told you already. You don't have to be so formal, you know? Just Zenith is fine," Zenith said.
Lilia dipped her head slightly. "My apologies. But calling you by name would be improper, Lady Zenith."
Zenith sighed. "Oh, I'll get you to warm up to me eventually. Just you wait."
She stepped past Lilia toward the hearth. I leaned forward, pulling in the rising steam.
"Mmmah… baahh…" I stretched both arms toward the pot.
"No, Ivar, not that," Zenith said, pulling my hands back. "That's hot. You'll hurt yourself."
Lately, I noticed something unusual. Scents came in too strong, not simply vivid but intrusive. Boiled vegetables or burning firewood carried a density that almost crowded the mind. I wondered if ingredients here proved more potent or if early development sharpened the senses. Either way, the change felt strange yet not unpleasant.
Zenith leaned over the pot. "Is the broth ready?"
"The broth is almost done, Lady Zenith." Lilia replied, glancing at the bowl. "I still need to add the seasoning, but the vegetables are soft enough."
"Alright, I'll take care of the rest," Zenith said.
She carried me toward the window and set me down on a low wooden bench padded with cloth. Close enough for her to keep an eye on me, but far enough from the stove.
"Stay right here, okay? Just sit still and watch like a good boy," Zenith told me, rolling up her sleeve. "Mama's going to help Lilia cook."
I blinked slowly and tilted my head to the side.
She gave my hair a light pat. "That's better."
With that, she returned to the counter where Lilia waited.
I stayed still, watching as the two of them worked in rhythm. The room felt warm, filled with the strong scent of broth and firewood, the clatter of knives and ladles echoing in the air.
A good time to think.
I'm the firstborn. With Rudeus not around, I started to think I might've taken his place.
In other words, I'm in a bad spot.
This world runs on tangled lore. People, history, systems stacked on each other in ways I barely understand. I skimmed parts of the light novel and nearly finished the anime, but my memory keeps scraps, bits that don't quite connect.
Orsted. The teleportation incident. And above all, Hitogami.
Even Rudeus couldn't beat him, if the spoilers I kept seeing online were true. Rudeus had nearly everything: mana in impossible amounts, time to grow, allies who carried him through, and the will to keep going. His path was brutal, but he endured. He bled, suffered, and became someone able to stand against monsters in every sense.
I turned to the window.
In the glass, a reflection stared back. Bright blond hair, pale skin, clear blue eyes. A stranger's face. A new character.
What the hell do I even have?
I don't know if this body can use magic. I don't know if there are any cheat skills in it. All I carry are scraps of memory from a story I half-remember.
Yeah. I'm screwed.
The door creaked open, bringing with it the sharp tang of sweat and the sound of footsteps.
"Oh? Something smells good."
Shirtless and glistening, Paul stepped into the kitchen.
Zenith looked up, brow creasing. "Dear, at least wash up before coming in like that."
Paul grinned. "You always say that, but you've never really meant it."
Before she could protest, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in. Zenith let out a sharp breath, cheeks tinged pink.
"D-dear! Lilia's right there…"
She said it, but didn't pull away. Honestly. No shame, these two.
"Baaa… mmuh."
That got their attention. Both turned as I lifted my arms toward Paul, summoning him with the full authority of an infant.
"Hey, you little rascal." He scooped me up with one arm. "Already jealous? Can't stand me stealing Mama's love, huh?"
"Waaaauh… baba!" I added more baby noises.
Paul chuckled. "Got some fire in you today, Ivar." He pulled me close, his sweat thick in the air. Not unpleasant, but nothing I wanted near.
He studied me for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Hard to believe you were so scrawny," he muttered. "Now you're filling out like a proper baby."
Truthfully, my growth was unnatural. The fact that I'd survived off constant overfeeding was beyond me.
"Give it a few years and I'll start training you. Swordsmanship, stances, maybe a few of my secret techniques." Paul smirked. "Just don't think you'll surpass me while I'm still this good."
"Dear, don't go making claims you'll regret," Zenith said, amused.
"Tch. Regret? If it's swordsmanship, I've got that covered. I was ranked Advanced by-"
I grabbed a strand from his ponytail and bit down.
"Ow-hey! That's not food!" He jerked his head back. "Seriously, what is it with you and hair lately?"
"That is normal behavior for infants, Master Paul," Lilia said, setting aside her knife. "Still, I recommend removing it. If he swallows any, it could be dangerous."
"Y-yeah, right, right," he pried me off, his fingers careful despite his rough look. "You've got a grip for someone so small."
He set me back on the bench and crouched in front of me, his gaze softening a little.
"Hey, Ivar… not that you understand me," he said, hesitant, almost unsure. "But that's fine. You gave us quite the scare when you were born, and now look at you."
A smile tugged at his mouth.
"Strong little guy. I'm proud of you."
It felt strange. Was this Paul as a father? I didn't remember him like this with Rudeus. Zenith seemed more attentive with me too, moving with a careful sort of caution. Maybe nearly losing a child at birth changes something in the parents.
At six months, infants usually start to babble with intent, right?
I decided to try.
"...Ahnk… pah-pah…" The sounds scraped out of my tongue.
Paul blinked. Behind him, hurried footsteps rushed closer. Zenith swept in, arms outstretched, and snatched me up.
"Ivar! Say that again!"
W-wait, hold on, young lady. Let me reset.
"Taa… taa-kuu… pah-pah…"
"Aaah! Ivar, you can speak!" Zenith's voice rang with joy. "Come on, say Mama. Say Mama!"
Well, alright. Let's see how far I can push this...
"Mah… mah… Mama!"
"Kyahhh! His first word was Mama!" Zenith squealed, bouncing me in her arms.
"Pretty sure it was Papa…" Paul muttered, scratching his cheek.
For the record, my first word was thank you. Bad pronunciation aside, it was still a demonstration of linguistic ability. I could finally speak.
Zenith gazed down at me as if she'd been handed the world, her smile shining bright. Behind her, Paul's grin softened, and even Lilia's lips curved the slightest bit.
It was peaceful. Fleeting, fragile peace I hadn't felt in years. And maybe that was what made it so unbearable. This world doesn't let pure moments last.
The good ones rot the fastest.
"Wea' me, Wewia!" I tugged at the hem of her skirt, one pudgy finger pointing toward the stairs.
It was time I accelerated my literacy.
Lilia paused mid-sweep, her broom angled delicately in one hand, expression as still as ever.
At approximately twelve months old, I was already mobile. Walking felt natural by then. My verbal ability far exceeded what was typical for my age, I could speak in clear, full words if I wanted to. But I didn't. Instead, I opted for broken syntax and slurred phonetics. The illusion of slow acquisition kept me inconspicuous.
And now, I had my own room. Privacy. Space. Autonomy.
Progress!
"You wish to read, young master?" she asked.
"Mhmm! I wan' wead!" I nodded eagerly, pointing again for dramatic effect, channeling all the faux-naïveté of a child who didn't yet comprehend boundaries.
Paul and Zenith were out for the afternoon, Paul on guard duty, Zenith attending to the village clinic. I was surprised to learn she ran one, but considering her background as a healer, it made perfect sense.
Their absence left me alone. With Lilia.
Perfect.
My goal was not merely to acquire the ability to read and write, but to ensure Lilia herself became my instructor.
There were very deliberate reasons for that.
First, I didn't want her to think I was possessed. I'd been playing the part of the simple-minded infant for almost a year, and so far it was working. Lilia regarded me without suspicion, unlike how she treated Rudeus in the original timeline. I intended to keep it that way, to make her feel safe around me as if I were simply another child she could raise without question.
Second, Paul and Zenith couldn't be involved. Their room reeked of sex, which made concentration impossible. As much as I appreciated their kindness, the constant doting was exhausting. I didn't need that level of attention.
Third, and I hate how sentimental this sounds, I pity her.
Paul raped her. That fact alone would've traumatized most people. Yet she kept going. Took a poisoned blade for a princess. Had her career cut short. And now she's here, raising the child of the man who ruined her life.
I can't ignore that. No teacher would. The fact that Lilia later seduced Paul only made the situation more complicated and unhealthy. From any rational perspective, this family dynamic is a toxic mess no one should have to endure.
But no matter how broken it is, I can't change the past. But I can be kind to her now. If pretending to be a sweet, harmless boy makes her life a little easier, then that's what I'll do. It's the least I can offer.
"Hmm… You mean the room that's always left open?" she asked.
No trace of suspicion in her tone. Merely a clarification.
"Mhmm." I let go of her skirt and toddled toward the stairs, one hand grasping the banister as I climbed step by step. I headed straight for the room I'd peeked into, the one at the corner of the second floor. Inside, it was nothing but dust and a chest.
Lilia followed, stopping beside the chest and tilting her head with curiosity.
"Strange. How did you know there were books in here?" She asked.
"I open!" I lied without hesitation, adding a giggle for effect.
She looked at me for a second, her eyes offering nothing. Then she knelt and opened the chest. Inside were five books, worn but intact. She pulled one out and examined the cover.
"This will do." She turned to me again. "Very well. Shall I read it to you, young master?"
"Yesh yesh!" I dropped onto the floor, legs splayed, eyes wide.
She sat neatly, legs tucked to the side, and placed the book across her lap. I scooted closer and settled myself right in the middle of her thighs, leaning back against her as if her lap were my seat.
"In the days when dragons ruled the skies and demons threatened the land," Lilia read, "there stood a man clad in silver, whose voice made kings kneel and whose blade knew no fear…"
The book was titled The Legend of Perugius.
Perugius Dola, the Armored Dragon King, the man who rebuilt Chaos Breaker and helped seal Laplace. That much I remembered. The book only skimmed the surface, confirming the basics. His ties to North God Kalman, the Asura Kingdom, and all the political mess were likely buried in later volumes I never got around to finishing.
Frustrating, sure, but I wasn't here for war stories. If I picked up some history along the way, all the better
"Achooo!"
The sneeze came out of nowhere, splattering mucus across the page.
"..."
Lilia said nothing. Somehow, her glasses caught the light in a way that completely hid her eyes
I could still salvage this. Babies cry when they're grossed out, embarrassed, or overwhelmed, right?
"Waaahhh!"
I forced out the sobs, complete with crocodile tears and mucus still dripping down my face, making the whole thing as dramatic as I could. Lilia didn't even flinch. Without a word, she lifted the edge of her apron, dabbed the page clean, and carried the book to the window, placing it on the sill to dry.
She picked me up easily. I blinked, making sure the tears didn't dry up just yet.
"I… sowwy…" I sniffled.
Her hand came to my cheek, a white handkerchief brushing gently against my skin.
"It's quite alright, young master," she said, running her hand lightly over my hair. "There's no need to cry."
"Wan' wead…" I mumbled, my eyes drifting to the book resting in the sunlight.
Her gaze remained on me a moment longer than usual.
"You're… oddly persistent to learn," she remarked, and I sense the subtle hesitation in her gaze.
Shit. She was already catching on. And it hadn't even been a full day. If this much weirdness set her off, no wonder she flat-out avoided Rudeus.
I quickly softened my expression, adding a trace of confusion and fear.
"Dat… bad?" I asked quietly, eyes widening slightly. I lowered my head, offering the hint of embarrassment rather than guilt, as if unsure what I'd done wrong.
She studied me for a moment. I held still, doing nothing to draw more attention to myself, silently hoping she would interpret it all as innocent.
"…No. It's alright, young master." Her tone didn't change, but I felt her grip tighten ever so slightly around me. "Are you feeling tired?"
"Nooo… wan' wead…" I sniffled again, rubbing my cheek against her shoulder.
That was a good sign. She wasn't suspicious enough to press further. If anything, she was simply concerned.
"Why not ask Master Paul or Lady Zenith to read to you?" she asked. "They would be delighted."
"No…" I said. "Wan' su'prise Mama. Papa too."
That was the answer I had planned on. It framed my insistence as a child's simple wish to impress his parents.
"I see. That's admirable," she said at last.
Then, without another word, she knelt and gently set me down.
"In that case, young master, I will assist you. However, it shall only be for a short while each day. Is that acceptable?"
"Uh-huh!" I answered with a cheerful nod, wiping my nose on my sleeve for effect.
She gave a small nod in return, almost like a bow.
And just like that, Phase One was a success.
"Lilia, Lilia, look! Look what I wrote!"
Today was my second birthday.
It was a forgettable milestone for most children, but for me it marked real progress. I could already read, and I could write as well.
For nearly a year, Lillia and I had found our cadence, lessons threaded through the interludes between chores and naps. We started in the sitting room, but in time she drew us into my bedroom, where secrecy was simpler to maintain.
This afternoon didn't follow the routine.
She stood in the hallway, broom in hand, sweeping. I approached at full toddler speed, clutching a slightly wrinkled sheet of parchment in both hands, already rehearsing how this would go.
"Here! Look!"
I held it out to her like an offering. It was a little smudged, but I presented it with all the earnestness I could manage.
She paused mid-motion, leaned the broom against the wall, and lowered herself until our eyes met. Her face gave nothing away, as it had all year.
She adjusted her glasses. The light caught the lenses, obscuring her eyes for a moment. Then she took the parchment from my hands and looked down at it.
It was a simple drawing of a stick figure with oversized glasses, sketched in charcoal, with a crooked line of uneven ink beneath it that read, Lillia is the coolest in the whole house.
She studied the paper in silence.
"...You drew this?" she asked.
I nodded. "Uh-huh!"
She looked at it again, more slowly this time. Then she folded the paper with care and reached out, resting her hand on my head. Her fingers stayed there for a moment.
"It's impressive, young master," she said. "You've clearly put effort into this."
When her eyes met mine again, her expression seemed less distant than before.
"Thank youuuuu~" I said.
It was mostly for show. But what surprised me was how calmly she took it. She didn't comment on the handwriting or ask anything at all. Just nodded, as if nothing about it needed explaining.
Lilia wasn't oblivious. A two-year-old shouldn't have been capable of coherent writing. At that stage, fine motor control was still developing, and cognition was only beginning to take shape. Most kids that age could barely grip a stick without poking their own eye out. I tried to act my age, but there was nothing developmentally normal about any of it.
So why ignore it?
Surely this should have raised suspicion.
"Young master, your progress is remarkable." she praised. " At this pace, you'll soon learn more than I can teach."
The tone was still polite, but there was distance in the phrasing. It sounded like encouragement, but it carried the shape of an exit.
That won't do. Time to bring out my greatest weapon again.
"B-but I want you to teach meee…" I whimpered, voice cracking. My eyes watered as I rubbed at them with tiny fists. "I-I like learning with you…"
Her eyes widened a fraction. She lowered herself again, slower this time, and brushed her fingers gently through my hair.
"…At this age, most children can barely shape words," she murmured, more to herself than to me. "Yet you ask for lessons with such earnestness. Truly, young master, you are unusual."
So she had noticed. That should've worried me, but instead it left me strangely relieved.
"Very well," she affirmed. "I shall continue, but only if you promise to work diligently. Do you recall what you told me at the beginning? That you wished to surprise your mother and father?"
I sniffled and gave a small nod. "I remember…"
"Then keep going," she spoke, her voice sure. "When they see this, I believe they will be proud." Her tone softened. "That much I know."
She was smiling when she said it.
I knew that look. I had seen it before, back when I was department chair. Students wore the same expression when you guided them through their mess and, for a brief moment, let gratitude show.
She smiled like that.
It's a rare thing, that look. Rarer still when you're the one receiving it.
"Okay!" I blurted, throwing my arms around her. She stiffened at the sudden contact, but I only grinned wider. "Thank you, Lilia!"
I pulled back, flashing her a broad smile before darting off toward the stairs. Back in my room, I shut the door behind me with a loud breath of relief.
Lilia had noticed something was off, yet she neither avoided me nor pulled away. She kept helping, which meant my behavior hadn't crossed any line. The plan was working. Slowly, but surely, it was paying off.
I walked to the bed, knelt, and reached beneath, dragging out a thick, weathered tome.
Zenith's magic book.
"Should I really be doing this now…" I muttered.
I should have tried months ago, but I didn't. I couldn't. Fear kept me still. Rudeus cast magic on his first attempt and kept soaring ahead. Meanwhile, I held back. If I can't manage even the simplest spell, then what does that make me?
It isn't only failure I fear. It could be the burden that comes with success. If I stayed quiet, if I remained ordinary, someone to be overlooked, Hitogami might never notice me-
Zenith encased in crystal on the back of a hydra. Lilia and Aisha stranded in another kingdom. Paul and Norn searching endlessly. Everyone, scattered. Everyone, suffering.
…
Haaah. Meta knowledge is a curse.
I sat at the table and placed the book down, opening it to the section on basic water magic. The instructions were clear: memorize the chant, visualize the spell, focus intent. Simple in theory.
I rose and walked to the far end of my room. I steadied my breath and recalled the chant I had read many times.
"[Let the great protection be upon the place I seek. I call forth a refreshing, burbling stream. Water Ball.]"
Something stirred within me. A tension in my chest, a faint pulling crawling toward my nose.
"Achoooo!"
The sneeze came violently. I blinked and stared at my hands.
"…So I really don't have it."
I'd expected that outcome, but the absolute lack of response still left me uneasy. Perhaps more is required. Focus. Meditation. A deeper search for what fuels magic, if such a thing exists within me.
"…It's worth trying," I murmured.
Even if nothing comes of it, I will continue. For now, that is all I can do.
"Dear, I can't take it anymore!"
"I've got more!"
Every. Night.
Even with my own room, there was no real privacy. Their voices came through the walls, clear and close no matter where I was. Too close.
At first, I blamed the house for its poor insulation and thin walls, but the layout proved me wrong. Sound should not carry this clearly, as if I stood right beside them. Yet it did, every time.
Eventually, I stopped caring. Some things were better left alone.
Night had fallen, and the candlelight beside me trembled as I finished the last line on the parchment.
"All right. That should do it," I said, setting the quill aside.
On the surface, it looked like a child's letter, with clumsy phrasing and simple words that carried their own honesty. Children offer small gestures and quiet surprises that, though imperfect, hold meaning. This letter was meant for Zenith and Paul, something for them to notice and appreciate.
I studied it for a moment and leaned back.
Why am I doing this?
I walk and speak, I read and write. I have gone farther than a child should, all while keeping the pace of my growth carefully measured. For what? What do I hope to prove?
The teleportation incident stayed in my mind. I knew it would come and what it would bring. Still, when I asked myself why it mattered, I couldn't find an answer. Paul, Zenith, and Lilia are kind, present, and caring, but they don't feel... entirely real. They should, yet they don't. A thin layer of separation hangs between us. I know this world is real, but it was made to be fictional.
And despite that disconnect, I keep hoping for something impossible. That I will wake up, that a way home will reveal itself, that all of this is temporary. But hope like that is poison. It dulls the senses, delays acceptance, and blinds you to the truth.
There is no guarantee I can return.
Compared to this place, that life, as ordinary as it was, made sense. I was a teacher. I had colleagues and friends. I wasn't rich or remarkable, but I lived. I helped my siblings with school, cooked with my mother, complained about paperwork, traded jokes with students, and hit the milestones people are supposed to. It wasn't the kind of life stories call fulfilling, but it was enough. Calm, structured, reliable. Its value came from stability, not satisfaction.
Rudeus came into this world with nothing left behind. I carried a whole life with me. He has the kind of courage that lets him face gods and force his existence to matter. I don't have that in me. No wonder Nanahoshi wanted so badly to return home.
I rose from the chair and walked to the window. The night air was still, cold and sharp. Stars covered the sky, brilliant and endless, each one pinprick clear against the dark. No haze or city glow dulled their shine, leaving behind a sea of countless points of light.
The scene was beautiful. The air was crisp and pure, untouched by smoke or concrete. Everything felt sharper and more vivid when the world was free of its own weight.
"How do I go back?" I whispered.
I thought of Nanahoshi again, of how she searched and tested for years, yet found nothing. In the end, she froze herself in time, giving up and leaving only the hope that someone would save her. She had more knowledge, more resources, more help than I do, and still she failed.
"What can I do?" I asked again.
I looked at my hands. I tried every day, repeating the same spell with the same chant, keeping the structure precise and the visualization as clear as I could manage. I changed posture, altered cadence, tested every variable I could think of.
And still, nothing.
At first, I told myself it was just timing. That my mana had not awakened yet. That it was simply too early. But each day that passed made that possibility weaker. There was no progress and no sign that anything would change.
If this world's built on magic and I can't use it, then I've got no place in it.
"And if I have no place here, what exactly am I supposed to do?" I asked, looking up at the night sky.
The stars gave no answer.
It's been a year. I still haven't given Zenith and Paul the letter.
I stopped trying to use magic, though it wasn't a sudden choice. At first, I told myself it was just a matter of time, that I was giving myself space. But months passed. Then a year. Nothing came.
What was I even doing all this time?
Pretending.
I played a role, quiet and obedient, careful enough to avoid attention. I moved when expected and nodded when required. Every day it felt heavier, harder to carry, until I realized my smile never quite reached my eyes anymore. There was always a hesitation before I spoke, a moment where I wondered if any of this performance mattered at all.
Zenith and Paul never questioned it. When they told me bedtime stories, I only nodded. They would smile in that uncertain, hopeful way parents do. It was unfair to them, two good people who deserved a real child instead of one carrying the mind of a grown man.
Still, the clock kept moving, and I had done nothing. I should have prepared. Planned. Built contingencies. If I could use magic, it would have shown itself by now. I should have felt it already. The absence said enough. Without an edge early, there was little chance to gain one later.
And yet, I can't stop trying. Not because I believe anymore, but because the moment I stop completely, I have to face the question I've spent twelve months running from:
What am I doing here?
"Ivar, look at Mama's flowers! Aren't they beautiful?"
Zenith's voice pulls me out of my thoughts. In the garden, she kneels in the soil beside me, her gloved hands coated in dirt, humming softly. It's unusual for her to invite me out here, but she seemed eager after breakfast.
The garden was modest but pleasant. Neat rows of blossoms reached toward the morning light, their petals shaped and colored in ways I had never seen, yet somehow familiar. Some glistened with dew, others curled in delicate patterns, and the flowers gave off a fresh, sweet fragrance.
"…Yes, they are, Mama," I say quietly.
"Mm," she says, leaning closer to the flowers, smiling. "Once they get enough sunlight and water, they'll grow little by little. You just have to be patient with them. That's how flowers become beautiful."
She moves with ease, plucking weeds and tending the soil. There's a natural certainty in the way she works. She's the same age as my former students, but she carries a composure I rarely saw in someone that young.
After a while, she looks at me, brushing the soil from her gloves. "Ivar, you've been quiet lately. Papa and I noticed. Are you feeling a little sad?"
"…No."
She chuckles softly. "Are you trying to be all grown-up now? You try so hard at it."
I only look at her.
Her smile wavers for a moment before she puts it back on. "A-alright then… but if you ever want to say something, you can talk to me anytime, okay?"
I nod, and she turns back to her work.
I sit with my knees pulled to my chest, the grass cool against me, staring up at the morning sky.
The light feels… clean.
My thoughts drift to my old life. Back then, mornings came through a layer of haze, the air heavy with smoke and the noise of the city pressing in from all sides. I remember hearing that the atmosphere was still recovering, even decades after the damage had peaked.
Sometimes I forget how much pollution and noise shape perception.
"Mama?"
"Hm? What is it, Ivar?" Zenith's hands pause mid–movement. She glances my way, a petal still resting between her fingers.
"Why can birds fly?"
She blinks, as though the question came out of nowhere. "Birds? Well… they have wings. That's how they were made."
"Then why don't people have wings?"
Zenith lets out a small laugh, tilting her head slightly. "Humans are made to walk. Our bodies aren't built for flying."
I don't answer. My eyes follow a bird drifting above the sky.
"…But what if someone wanted to fly?"
She makes a thoughtful hum and goes back to the flowers, running her fingers over the soil before letting the petal fall softly onto it.
"Then maybe they'd climb a tree. Or a tall hill. Or ask someone to carry them," she said, smiling like it's obvious.
"That's all?"
She nods without hesitation. "Birds fly because they're meant to. People walk because that's how we're made. That's simply how things were decided."
I know those questions don't really matter. Even so, they keep circling in my head. Maybe that's why it bothers me. I've been reaching for something that was never promised to me, without knowing where my place actually is.
I lowered my gaze to the grass.
I'm not someone destined to change anything. There's nothing extraordinary in me. I'm just here in a world I can't control, watching a future I don't want draw closer day by day.
Maybe I was never meant to fly at all.
"But, you know…"
The voice reached me before anything else, pulling me back.
"Even if we couldn't fly, we could still look up, right? We could still dream, and find our own way."
I felt the grass press down beside me and looked up. Zenith was there, smiling. Her hand came to rest on my head. She wasn't wearing her gloves anymore. She sat next to me and gently ran her fingers through my hair.
"I used to be an adventurer, you know?" she began softly. "When I was younger, I was stubborn. I left home on my own, wandered into dangerous places, even fought monsters. Mama didn't really know what she was doing."
I blinked once. "…Really?"
"Mhm." She smiled faintly. "I made a lot of mistakes back then. I got hurt, got scared, and caused plenty of trouble along the way. But then I met your Papa, made friends… and somehow, things worked out."
I knew that much already, from the story, at least.
"There were other ways to go far, Ivar. Even without wings," she said. I was taken aback when she leaned in and pressed her forehead lightly against mine. "You just had to keep moving forward."
Her blue eyes met mine.
"Even if you're staring at the sky, the ground will always be beneath your feet."
...
Her words are so simple. but there's clarity in their plainness. I had spent so long thinking I needed to be something else. Stronger. Smarter. Better. Maybe I had just been thinking too narrowly. Measuring myself against someone else's path. Chasing another person's sky. I used to tell my students something I once read from Kierkegaard: the road is not always straight. There are detours worth taking.
I forgot my own lesson.
And for the first time in a long while, I smiled. A real one.
"Okay, Mama."
"Oh! You smiled!" Zenith gasped. She swept me into her arms, spinning me around, laughing with unfiltered joy.
"You're so cute when you smile, Ivar! It makes Mama's heart flutter!" she said as I squirmed, but I didn't resist.
I had been holding on to something that was never mine, chasing a sky meant for someone else and measuring myself against paths I was never meant to walk. I forgot that moving forward doesn't require wings, and progress doesn't have to be loud or grand. Even the smallest steps still carry you somewhere.
I suppose it's time to stop chasing the sky and start walking.
"Papa," I called out.
I'd been watching him for a while. Every morning, the sound of his sword cut through the yard. Paul moved with precision. Each swing had intent. Each step was controlled. Even in practice, there was danger in every motion.
I sat a few meters away, hands on my knees. His sword was fast, faster than most eyes could follow. Fear would have been normal. I didn't feel it.
There was rhythm in his strikes. The footwork, the twist of his hips, the shift in his shoulders, the flow of his weight. It formed a pattern. I couldn't see every detail, but I could read enough to know where the next strike would land. It was lethal, but not unpredictable.
I had believed I would use magic. That had been my plan when I realized I had been reborn here. But magic had never answered me, or perhaps it had never been mine. Then what was I?
The answer pressed at the edges of my mind as I watched him.
I remembered that place from before I ended up here. At the time, I assumed it was nothing, just silence and dark. It took a while before I understood that wasn't the case. Zenith pushing me to actually think is what made it fall into place. That void wasn't empty. Something was already working on me there. I just never stopped to examine it.
If I couldn't wield magic, then maybe I was made for something else.
There was only one way to confirm it.
Paul's foot came to a stop. His sword halted mid-swing before he lowered it to his side, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Oh? So you finally came over to watch properly?"
I didn't answer immediately. I stepped forward.
"Papa, can you teach me how to use a sword?"
Paul blinked once, then a grin pulled at his mouth.
"Starting early, are we? My kid's already aiming for the sword at this age!" He wiped the sweat from his brow and rested the blade on his shoulder. "You've been quiet these days. I was beginning to think something was off. You got something you want to tell me?"
Might as well give him what he wants.
"I… I…" I kept my gaze low, hesitating.
He made a curious sound, watching me.
I looked up and gave him the widest, most innocent smile I could manage.
"I want to become a knight like you!"
I knew the kind of man he was, proud, hot-blooded, reckless, always eager to show off. His ego was astronomical. But put a sword in his hand and he was the genuine article.
Paul's grin stretched wider.
"Hah! I knew my kid wanted this!" He ruffled my hair with a strong, calloused hand. "Three years old and already on the right path. Alright, let's get you set up."
He glanced around the yard.
"No way there's a wooden sword your size lying around..."
He stepped up to a small tree and let his eyes sweep left and right. Satisfied, he drew a short knife from his belt and sliced a small branch.
His hands moved in a blur. The knife stripped leaves, trimmed knots, and shaped the wood, each stroke knowing exactly what it wanted to become. In less than a minute, the branch had transformed into a small sword, smooth and balanced, the grip carved perfectly for my hand.
I couldn't hide my surprise, and his grin widened further.
"Oi, oi, don't tell me you're impressed already?" He spun the wooden blade casually. "Your papa's pretty cool, huh?"
I couldn't argue with that. Paul was loud, reckless, cocky, and far too lustful for his own good, yet when it came to a blade, he was in a league of his own.
"Yes! Papa is the coolest papa in the world!" I said, giggling.
He laughed. "That's right, Ivar! I am the coolest!"
He handed me the small sword and stepped back a few paces. The wood felt light, balanced, and comfortable in my hand.
"Alright, lesson one! Copy me exactly. Like this. YAM! DAM! PHWAH!"
He swung his sword in three exaggerated arcs, punctuating each with a shout. I stared at him, completely dumbfounded.
"…Yam, dam, phwah?" I repeated, unsure if he meant it literally.
"Yes! That's it! You've got the hang of it already!" Paul slapped his thigh with a grin and pointed at a small rock a few feet away. "Try it on that one next."
I sighed internally. Paul was hopeless as a teacher. He never mentioned stance or grip, never explained weight or momentum. Three sounds and a target were all I got. From an educator's point of view, it was ridiculous, almost laughable, and yet kind of fun.
Still, I got the essentials.
Yam - raise the sword.
Dam - bring it down.
Phwah - follow through.
Crude and simple, but workable. I've encountered worse ways of teaching than Paul's.
I stepped toward the rock, gripping the small wooden blade tight. I'm three. I have no clue what logic Paul was following, letting me strike solid stone with a toy. And yet, if I can't do magic, maybe this is how I discover what this body can do.
I raised the sword.
Yam.
Brought it down.
Dam.
Every ounce of strength I had went into it.
Phwah.
BOOM.
My heart jumped as a shockwave erupted, sending dust and small fragments of earth into the air.
"IVAR!" Paul shouted, scooping me up and holding me tight. Footsteps came quickly behind him as Zenith and Lilia appeared, faces pale and tense.
"Master Paul! Young master!" Lilia called, her voice sharp with worry.
"What happened?!" Zenith knelt beside us, her eyes scanning the wreckage. "Dear, what did you do?"
"H-hey! Don't look at me like that!" Paul protested, holding me close. "I didn't do anything! I just told Ivar to swing at a rock!"
"Swing with what? Don't tell me…" Zenith's eyes went wide. "You let him hit a rock… with a sword?!"
"I-it's just a wooden sword!" Paul protested, his confidence faltering.
I barely paid attention to their voices, my eyes locked on the wreckage. Dust settled to reveal the scorched earth, the ruined patch of grass, and the rock split clean in two. The wooden sword was lodged in one half, wedged firmly as though it had always belonged there.
Silence hung over the yard.
Even I couldn't comprehend what had just happened.
"…Pffft."
Paul finally broke it.
"AHAHAHA!" he laughed, doubling over. "Did you see that, Zenith?! Lilia?! My son's a monster! He really takes after me!"
Zenith gave him a flat look before turning to me, gently placing her hands on my cheeks.
"Ivar… are you okay? Did you get hurt anywhere?"
I shook my head. Still dazed. Still staring at the rock.
Strength. Unreal strength in a body far too small to handle it. I can't believe this. That dream wasn't lying. I have a Heavenly Restriction, just like in Jujutsu Kaisen. If someone like Rudeus had unlimited mana, then I must be the exact opposite, with no magic at all and only physical power.
It all makes sense now. Every sound, every scent, every small movement stands out with unnatural clarity. I used to think it was just how an infant's senses developed, but no. This clarity is compensation, not growth. The price of what I am.
The irony of it all doesn't escape me.
It feels like I'm in a bad fanfiction.
Paul set me down, grinning as he tousled my hair.
"See? I knew my kid had talent with the sword, just like me!"
I glanced up at him, then at Zenith, who looked more worried than proud.
"Ivar…" she said softly.
I blinked and gave her a small smile.
"Mama, I'm fine. Look, no bruises." I raised my palm toward her face, only to see shock flicker across her features.
"IVAR! Oh no… your hands!" Zenith exclaimed, eyes wide. She reached for me and froze, unsure what to do. My confusion mirrored hers as I looked at my own hands. Blood had welled up from the friction on my palms, the skin slightly torn and raw.
The pain hit in a snap, but I stayed still. A late reaction, nothing more.
"Ivar, don't move. Mama will heal you," she said firmly.
Zenith placed her palms over mine. I could hardly believe it as a soft green glow spread from her hands, warm and comforting. Something about it… felt strangely familiar, like déjà vu.
"[Divine power is abundant and nourishing. It grants strength to those who have faltered. Healing.]"
The light flowed into my palms. Slowly, the blood receded, and my skin knit itself back to normal. I stared, fascinated. My hands, once raw and bruised, now looked untouched, smooth as before.
Ah… I remember. This felt just like the part in the story where Zenith healed Rudeus after he fell as a baby.
"Whoa…" I whispered, turning my hands to marvel at the effect. So this is magic.
"See? Didn't I tell you? Mama used to be an adventurer," Zenith said, smiling proudly.
I kept staring at my hands. For the first time, I had seen magic with my own eyes. Even as an adult in this body, the wonder of childhood returned.
"So cool…" I breathed. "Mama… you're amazing."
"Of course! Your mama is amazing!" she said, hugging me tight and pressing her cheek against mine. "But don't scare me like that when your father does something stupid."
"Zenith, you're worrying too much," Paul cut in with his arms crossed and that smug grin on his face. "Kids get scraped up all the time. And you can heal him anyway."
"But what if he gets hurt worse than this?" she shot back, still holding on to me.
"It'll be fine," Paul said, full of confidence. "Did you see what he did to that rock? Our son is strong. He's got talent. Ivar is going to be a knight for sure."
"Isn't he too young to start training?" Zenith asked.
"Come on, you saw it yourself," Paul said, leaning in. "Strength like that is not something you ignore. If he already has this much ability, we should put it to use."
Zenith went quiet, uncertainty written all over her face.
I was stunned. In the original story, she had been overjoyed when Rudeus showed talent with magic, ready to hire a tutor and even arguing with Paul for him to pursue it. This version of Zenith hesitated when I showed potential.
I reached up and touched her cheek.
"Mama, it's fine," I said. "I want to be a knight. I want to protect you, Papa, and Lilia."
It was just another excuse, but it was exactly the development I needed.
"Ivar…" she murmured, then let out a sigh. "If you weren't so cute… fine. You can train with Papa."
"Thank you, Mama!" I exclaimed, wrapping my arms around her tightly. "I love you!"
She hugged me back, lifting me slightly as she pulled me closer.
"I love you too, Ivar," she said without hesitation. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up. You've got a bit of dirt on your clothes."
As she carried me back to the house, I glanced at Paul, still grinning, and Lilia, whose expression was quietly worried. Then my eyes drifted back to the halved stone.
Was this what I was meant for?
If I couldn't reach the sky with magic…
then maybe I was born to cut it down instead.
Notes:
So, how was it? I'd really appreciate it if you left a review. Your feedback means a lot and helps me know if I'm on the right track. The next chapter will come whenever I get some free time, but I promise it's coming.
Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.
(P.S. This author's note was originally posted on FanFiction.net.)
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